by Pamela Newham
The wind tugs at their hair and teases their clothes
but they do not care for they are talking and talking.
What are they discussing?
Probably not local elections or postal strikes
or the high cost of cauliflowers.
Now and then they stop but do not look
at the white-tufted waves or the mountains
or the squabbling seagulls
instead they stand for a moment, laughing.
Then they carry on walking
Talking and talking as the wind
whisks their secrets out to sea.